


La Petite Mort

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cock Worship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Dom/sub, ball worship, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Widowmaker has an excellent track record as Talon’s top sniper. This came at a cost, one that troubles her still. Reaper's willing to help with that.





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> This was done with the blessing of the venerable [Fritz](https://twitter.com/fritz3d), specifically for their animation <[here](https://gfycat.com/tintedknobbyfly)!
> 
> I'd be overjoyed if you checked out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile).

A single death can change everything.

If the woman once known to the world as Amélie Lacroix had any guiding philosophy now, it was that principle. That, depending on the impact an individual had on the world, their sudden removal from it could alter variables far beyond immediate understanding.

It was true. She’d seen it in action, more times than she’d ever be able to comfortably recall.

A single death _could_ change _anything_.

Once dead, the organizations buoyed up by a renowned philanthropist floundered and sent ripples into the world that they inhabited. An academic’s dangerous research stalled and stifled progress once they ceased living, stunting intellectual development until it could be comfortably resumed. A politician’s bold campaign ground to a screeching halt upon their untimely demise, and the country descended into chaos as blame shifted and momentum ebbed and flowed.

Assassination made economies surge and shrink, violence escalate and cease, and tensions be stoked and soothed. A sniper held their finger on the heartbeat of the world, and could guide its pulse. Tekhartha Mondatta’s death would prove that, perhaps more than any other target had before.

Widowmaker had only a distant awareness of this through the droning, rote conditioning pumped into her when she was called to reaffirm it. Her work directed Talon’s vision for the planet, one bullet at a time. Images flitted through her mind of newspaper headlines, stock market crashes and price hikes in accordance with the outcome of her missions, quantifications of her role in the group.

But the vast majority of it went over her head. Not because she lacked the intelligence or awareness to understand it: to the contrary, she was made to _very_ clearly comprehend just how valuable she was by the drumming of information by her directors. But Widowmaker’s true apathy lay in the dull, empty vacancy that rested in her core after an operation. Her mind had been teased and prodded to find absolute bliss in the moment the trigger was pulled, and little else, leaving her chasing new targets to find her fix.

A part of her despised this. Whatever remained of the life before, of the ballet dancer trapped in the sunken pit of her subconscious beat furiously against the mental barriers that held her back. Many days, Widowmaker could pretend to ignore her, but every once in a while the restrained emotions threatened to spill over and break the smooth, placid exterior she’d been broken into projecting.

Sometimes, Widowmaker thought she could hear Amélie sobbing, but no matter how much she tried, she could never bring a tear to her eye or a sob to her lips. The pressure would build and build and nearly crest, and then she’d be out of options.

Once, she might have curled up in her room and clawed at her scalp, trying to pull out the thoughts and hopes and dreams that had been crushed under so much torture. The pain was a distant memory, bringing to mind needles and cold, floating fear and darkness, the slow sense of suffocation as her pulse was slowed and her breathing hampered, but it was there too, tearing in her alongside the woman who it had killed.

The first time she’d been caught like that, she’d been half-coaxed, half-dragged back to the conditioning chamber, put back under restraint, and subjected to a cocktail of flashing images that she recognized from her breaking, some vibrations on her headpiece that lent her a pleasurable buzzing in her mind, and an inflow of drugs whose contents she was never made to understand but left her feeling steely once more.

That had suppressed her mental dissonance, for a time. It got better when she was on missions, fulfilling her new purpose, but never fully addressed the lingering, nagging doubts that soon blossomed into full-fledged horror.

Only one thing had consistently worked to satiate this, save long-distance assassination. And even the latter seemed to be dulling, each fix less and less able to keep her going before she needed more. Was that by design, or a flaw in Talon’s approach?

She wasn’t sure. But she did know for certain that the one solution she’d been able to find was waiting for her, behind this door. Widowmaker rapped her knuckles on it, once, twice, and was raising her hand for a third when a guttural voice called out to her from inside.

“I’m here.”

She slid through the open door, looking down at a sight she’d come to be familiar with. Agent Reaper, sitting on the edge of his bunk, resting his palms on his knees and tapping his foot.

“How are you doing?” They’d done this enough times that he knew not to bring up her missions now, or to get into the specifics of her mental state. But he still cared enough to ask, even if she was only ever here for the same reason.

“ _Je suis misérable_.” Widowmaker intoned. Like her, in another life Reaper had been someone else. Gabriel Reyes, Overwatch’s shadow influencer, but his identity had never been fully or forcibly subsumed by what Talon needed of him. Still, that put him in a better place to understand her.

“I’m sorry.” For such a brutal man, Reaper spoke with uncharacteristic tenderness, extending a hand to cup her chin as he rose. His cloak widened his shoulders even more, while his hood and mask seemed to make him feel even taller than he already was. The net effect was the sensation that she was small, vulnerable, and in need of shelter.

Which was almost precisely the reason why she was here. Sometimes, she needed the brutality, the slapping and scratching, the degradation and swearing and rough fucking that left her feeling like she’d just participated in the kind of violence that her brain was now wired to get off at. And sometimes, small moments of kindness, of understanding, were enough to comfort the specter of Amélie that haunted her, reminding her just a little bit of what she had lost.

Today, she needed the velvet glove, not the iron fist. She didn’t want to be _fucked_ , she wanted whatever the closest approximation to love was that she could find. And for now, that meant Reaper, the man who could both wrap her around his dick and bang her silly as well as tenderly remind her that, yes, things could be all right, if only for a little while.

He raised a hand to remove his mask, his claws hitting the latch that locked his face away from the outside world. Reaper paused, and she nodded, prompting him to pull forward and remove the white covering. He hadn’t changed, and she hadn’t expected him to. Reaper didn’t look that different from Gabriel Reyes, with his tan skin, goatee and square jaw. But the eyes were different, an angry red, and dark veins crisscrossed his face, creating patterns alongside his scars and the wisps of smoke that furled off of his skin, as if he were made of black sand.

It was a face that made clear just how much pain he’d been made to endure, and would in the future. A marker of his suffering, but also his resolve. Widowmaker didn’t touch him, but his neutral frown flickered into something like an appreciative smile, if only for a split-second. Then, it was gone, and Reaper’s heavy, anticipating breaths were all she could focus on.

She reached forward and unhitched his belts, one after another, until his leggings came down in a whisper of leather and fabric and her hands were on his pelvis, just above _him_. Already half-hard, dark and thick and ready for her, growing more turgid the longer she let her fingers linger in his pubic hair.

Sometimes, he might’ve taunted her, goading her into getting onto her knees and sucking his cock, leaving her cooly eager to play along with his dominance game. But after a day this significant, an episode this difficult, he seemed to know that that wasn’t what she wanted, and he respected that by restraining the demonstration of his intentions to a hand on her shoulder. It rested on her as she got down on her knees though she was well aware that he was capable of shoving her about when she wanted. In this moment of vulnerability, she was thankful for his tact.

Widowmaker took Reaper’s testicle in her mouth, running her tongue around the folds of skin covering the nut in slow, delicate motions while rolling the other in her hands. His dick on her face grew harder and harder the more she worked at him, a silent affirmation that he appreciated her efforts.. Worshipping his balls didn’t usually get him to cum, and almost never finished her off, but his nuts were still pleasantly big enough to fill out her mouth quite nicely, and the anticipation helped make the real act that much better.

The smoke that seemed to drift off of Reaper’s skin with the puffs of air from her nostrils didn’t sting her eyes, nor did it irritate her skin or otherwise impact her. Perhaps that was because her senses had been dulled in the aim of making her a better sniper, but she liked to imagine that the billowing vapor simply didn’t have any unpleasant qualities. It certainly made slurping on his ballsack or sucking down his cock easier and far more enjoyable.

For such a violent man, Reaper was capable of remarkable patience. His hand stayed on her shoulder, the other gripping into a fist, but he didn’t rush her, didn’t shove his dick against her face or rub her lips against his scrotum. He simply stood, gave light grunts when she sucked particularly hard on him or gripped his nutsack tightly, and let her have her fill.

She knew she’d reached her limit when something approaching warmth began to tickle at her loins. Widowmaker was getting aroused, and breaking a little of the barrier that tormented her so. It was time to move on, and she made such clear by lifting her mouth off Reaper’s nuts with a pop, slapping his cock against her face, and humming, letting the vibrations of her lips reverberate against where they pressed to his ballsack. He tensed above her, and his cock seemed to get even harder than it already was, but Reaper didn’t make any move to direct her. He was still keeping in the spirit of this.

Widowmaker rose and took one his hands, guiding it to just below where her suit covered her belly button and pressing his fingers against the material. Reaper tore a hole clean down the front of her suit, careful to avoid slicing her skin, pulling down until the inside of the leggings covering her thighs started to come away too. With a final tug, he ripped it off, and moved his hand up to grasp where the dip in her suit presented soe cleavage, and pulled that clothing apart, slipping it to the sides of her breasts. Now she had two improvised holes in her outfit, one exposing her violet tits, the other leaving bare her smooth-shaven pussy, ass, and some of her thighs. All the same shades of purple and blue as her clothing and the rest of her skin.

In short, the important parts were now accessible. Suits could be repaired and replaced, and were a fair price for fucking, even if only one of the holes had actually resulted from damage. Tearing her clothes up, somehow, made it better, more visceral and exciting, which was why she didn’t just strip down.

Switching sides, Widowmaker rested a hand on his chest and moved to lay back, balancing with one arm on the bed until she was on her side, her shins around his waist. Now he was closer, her thighs spread apart by Reaper’s advance, his cockhead was at her slit, then slipping inside.

He’d fucked her quite a few times, but Widowmaker still marveled at how well Reaper stretched her out, leaving her cunt straining to accommodate his cock as he sank in deeper. Her lack of body heat extended to the inside of her pussy, but she still got sopping wet when appropriately excited and Reaper had never complained about how her folds felt around his dick. He didn’t exactly run hot himself, and once they got going the friction helped them feel something close to heat.

“Hssssst.” Widowmaker wasn’t sure what sound she was making, but whatever it was, it hissed through her teeth as his balls came to rest against her rear, Widowmaker extended her right leg upwards for him to grab, a gasp slipping out from between her lips at the sensation afforded by the new angle. He wasn’t moving quickly, but the way his cock was now gliding against her vaginal walls afforded new possibilities for pleasure...and ways to drive out the discomforts in her mind.

Reaper sped up, rawing into her with increased force, but not treating her roughly: this was about speed, not dominance. About making sure they were going to be getting enough to get where they wanted, rather than taking part in the game where he tore her down and she loved it. To be sure, her ass was starting to ache from the _thwap, thwap, thwap_ of Reaper’s nutsack slamming against it. His cock drilled deeply into her depths, but any sensation was good sensation when it came to the two of them. They’d experimented quite a bit and hadn’t found a limit, so she wasn’t going to shy away from a little soreness on her butt.

His claw-tipped gloves gripped her thigh harder, his jaw tensing as the skin in his cheek shriveled and cracked away into dust, exposing his teeth for a moment before regrowing over the opening. Seeing him decay and be rejuvenated in the span of seconds was disconcerting, but he was laying into her hard and fast and deep enough that she could overlook it.

Pain and degradation could get Widowmaker off, but sometimes the simple comfort of knowing that Reaper was invested enough in her well-being, and her ability to help him empty his nuts inside her cunt and all over her skin. Fucking her faster didn’t mean he wasn’t still fucking her with tenderness and the intent to comfort her stricken psyche. Pace was irrelevant so long as the tone, that of mutual understanding and exchange, was maintained, and so far he was doing _amazing_.

So amazing, in fact, that she could tell that something grand was welling up inside, being brought to the forefront by the angle of being fucked on her side, spread and stretched around Reaper’s thick cock at a rapid, hip-thrusting pace that nonetheless stayed true to the therapeutic dynamic they’d established this time. She didn’t have a finger on her clit, but it wouldn’t be necessary this time, and she made a show of biting her lip and grinning for his benefit. Under such intense physical pleasure, some small part of her conditioning faltered, and she was allowed to reflexively respond to Reaper’s fucking.

She imagined he enjoyed it, the sight of her being wrung out around his shaft, pussy quivering and clamping down as he kept going, untiring and relentless. How could he keep going at such a breakneck pace for so long, and how much longer could she endure it before she would come undone? Not much, going by the hitches catching in her voice and the pressure and heat growing around his cock in her.

His hips were a blur, her tits swinging up and down in time with the movements that brought his pelvis crashing against her thighs, grinding and rubbing his cock inside her tunnel. He grunted, his tempo stuttering and stumbling, and then Reaper was cumming furiously, firing off thick, gushing cumshots into her cunt, painting her insides white and filling her up with all the warm spunk she could ever desire. The knowledge that he’d creampied her, was _still_ creampieing her with repeated pulses of his cock and jerking motions of his dick inside her, gave Widowmaker the final impetus to orgasm.

A bright, cool _snap_ buzzed along her spine, zigzagging through her body in chilly spikes of pleasure before cresting around his dick, leaving her stuttering and smiling while her pussy gripped him tight, spasmed in wild undulations, and gushed onto the dick that had satisfied her so well. Now, in the past, and many, many times in the future.

Reaper’s balls pumped their last into her, and he groaned and stepped back, pulling out of her with a _squelch_ , his cum leaking out in a steady drip. His dick was absolutely soaked in both their sexual fluids and was still half-hard, but the exhaustion in his eyes told her that now was not the time to be greedy. So instead of spreading her legs and urging him to fuck her again, Widowmaker extended a hand, pulled him towards her, rolled to her other side and let Reaper spoon her from behind on the bed, his cum-coated cock resting between her asscheeks while his arms enfolded her in his embrace. Strong enough to break a man’s ribs, but cradling her gently instead, giving her a semblance of peace of mind as her mind began to embrace the fog of sleep. The nightmares and torments would return, but Widowmaker could live with them. As long as she had this to come back to, things would be all right.


End file.
